


Simulations and Variables

by Gemi



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: All the Blood Gulchers are AIs except for Church and Tex, Church is an experimental scientists who doesn't think ahead enough, Crackish Au, F/F, F/M, M/M, Pairings may change or be added, RvB AU, past Felix/Locus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12777993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemi/pseuds/Gemi
Summary: The Blood Gulch company is a small business with a strange reputation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt to write something for the Red vs Blue fandom. The chapters will likely be random, slice of life kind of stuff and fairly short. Still, I hope you enjoy!

The Blood Gulch company is a small business with a strange reputation.  
  
No one can quite figure out what they do; why someone would rent a large warehouse out in the middle of nowhere, a town so small it’s only true source of income is to scam the tourists that briefly passes through.  
  
At times there are large explosions inside and outside the warehouse, and the firemen are on first name basis with the employees. The few cops they have in town despises the Blood Gulch company as a whole, the children come up with new conspiracy theories every day and the shopkeepers cluck their tongues and pretend they don’t make a lot of money selling odd things to the employees.  
  
Most of all, no one can figure out why such a big asshole as Leonard L. Church Jr would settle down in their small town. No doubt he would be far happier in a big city, preferably with a giant skyscraper that got his name on it. Why in the _world_ would he settle for Canyon Bay?  
  
They can’t ask the woman who accompanied him, of course. Tex with the pretty dollface if one ignores her broken nose, Tex with the blonde hair and high ponytail and terrifyingly huge motorcycle. They can’t ask her, the gossipers insist, because it is clear she herself is absolutely terrifying. She have never quite been _rude_ , but there is something not quite right about her. Such a pretty face should not have a smile that makes the Jaw theme play in the background.  
  
No, it is best if they simply keep guessing and doesn’t ask _anyone_ at the Blood Gulch Company. After all, who knows what those people have been up to? Clearly something illegal. Best to not get involved.

 

* * *

 

It’s a sunny day when a large, thick cloud of smoke erupts and covers the entire warehouse. The cloud is in multiple colors, all of them vaguely resembling the color of vomit. It hangs there, unmoving.   
  
One loud, shrieking voice can be heard from within it.  
  
“ _Goddamnit Caboose!”_


	2. Chapter 2

The red is dripping down onto the floor. For a moment all he can do is stare at it, frozen, taking in the mess he is now responsible for.

“Lick it up.”

Locus twitches.

“It’s on the floor,” he replies, frowning.

“Waste of good food,” the AI argues, his holographic form projected by Locus feet as he considers the growing puddle of strawberry jam. “Lick it up, dude. Before someone _sees_. Do we want witnesses? I think _not_. Well, I think you don’t. I don’t give a fuck.”

Locus feels his frown deepen. He looks between the puddle and his AI, before he reaches for a towel.

“Coward,” Grif groans, but there is no edge to it. He flickers, orange light suddenly back on Locus shoulder. Judging him. “A _true_ soldier would totally lick that shit up.”

“No,” Locus says, not pointing out that a _true soldier_ would not have dropped and broken the jar of strawberry jam to begin with. A true soldier would still be at war, a true soldier would not experience flashbacks, a true soldier--

Polka music plays. Locus jumps, not prepared, and he drops the towel. It lands on the pool of jam, the white cloth slowly turning red as it tries to absorb the sugary mess. The music bounces against the tiled walls of the small kitchen as they both simply stare for a long moment.

“Stop thinking so much. It gives me a headache,” Grif abruptly complains, turning off the music from wherever he played it, and Locus sighs and begins to clean up the mess. He can think about the past later; for now, his AI is correct.

He doesn’t want witnesses to his clumsiness.


	3. Chapter 3

“Why do you have _scars_?” Church asks. It’s said in a demanding, shrill tone and Donut merely shrugs as he lazily kicks his legs back and forth from where he is sitting.   
  
Maine doesn’t say a word; he is fiddling with another one of Church’s inventions, a cube that is supposed to fold out into _something_ when solved. Donut sure hopes it’s something _fun_. Maybe something he can help Maine toss around. Donut wouldn’t want to brag, but he’s fairly certain he’s a better tosser calculator than the _other_ AI’s at the company.  
  
“Why does your AI have _scars_?” Church asks Maine then, indignant, which is actually pretty rude. “I didn’t design him with fucking _scars_!”  
  
“I thought it would be fun to match,” Donut finally replies, because Maine certainly isn’t. He hasn’t blinked or so much as glanced at Church since the scientists stomped over, “And Maine absolutely _refuses_ to wear lightish red, which is a shame because I’m absolutely certain he would look _gorgeous_ in it, so scars it is! And if I may say so, I look _good_.”  
  
He did look good, actually. The scarring that covered half of his artificial face somehow seemed to actually belong there, and it only slightly hindered Donut from beaming his signature smile.  
  
Church squints.  
  
“Is that glitter?”  
  
“It highlights my cheekbones,” Donut cheerfully says, “I made sure to spray it all over, it was a bit sticky at first but I got the hang of it! Changing my appearance sure was _hard_! You should make it an easier option for us, y’know.”  
  
“I don’t _want_ to design AI’s that keep fucking shit up! How am I supposed to earn _money_ on _that!?_ How will I ever get rid of all of you if you keep pulling this shit!”  
  
“Oh, as if you would _ever_ get rid of Caboose,” Donut laughs.  
  
Blue flickers to life beside Church’s head.  
  
“Yes, hi, that is me,” Caboose says loud enough to make Church twitch. “Hello.”  
  
“Hi Caboose!”  
  
“Caboose is a goddamn health hazard and if I gave him away for _free_ someone would still sue me for his bullshit,” Church hisses. That has even Maine looking at him with a raised brow of disbelief. The lightish red AI merely tsks and shakes his head.  
  
“You’re exaggerating! Caboose is a sweetheart, and besides _none_ of us are perfect. Remember what Tex and Sister did yesterday? That was _awful_.”  
  
“That’s _different_.”  
  
“Didn’t you have to pay _lots_ of money to cover it all up? Didn’t he, Maine?”  
  
The large man gives a silent nod.  
  
“Actually, you sure have had to pay a _lot_ of damages thanks to Caboose, but I don’t think he ever _hurt_ someone. Not much, anyway, I’m sure. And what Tex and Sister did yesterday were just property damages, though gosh, it sure was awful anyway. They gave it _hard_ to that shopkeeper. I don’t think it’s even possible to get rid of those stains they left! Your excuse makes no sense because if you can’t give _Caboose_ to someone for free, then why would you let others take _us_? Y’know, Maine and I are _very_ good at tossing those grenades you gave us the other day. We’re far more dangerous than Caboose.”  
  
Church, meanwhile, is growing an alarming shade of red. It clashes awfully with his baby blue shirt. Caboose sits on his shoulder, staring into nothing at all. He is very obviously busy with something else and is either being polite about appearing present or, more likely, forgot he turned on his holographic form to begin with.  
  
“Yeah, well, Caboose is _my_ health hazard!” Church _shrieks_. “Now shut the fuck up! Gimme that, you can’t even _solve_ it,” and the scientists attempts to snatch the cube out of Maine’s hands.  
  
Maine growls and leans away from him.  
  
“Bear man is mad,” Caboose points out while pointing at Maine. “He needs _honey_.”  
  
“We almost _have_ it,” Donut huffs at Church. “Besides, Caboose, did you hear? Church said you were his! Isn’t that _great_?”  
  
Caboose gasps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how do you even write innuendos


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Church curses a lot. Be warned.

Church is muttering again.   
  
Caboose likes it when Church mutters; he mutters for such a long _time_ , and not much of it makes sense but that is alright. Caboose just likes listening to Church’s voice, even if he sometimes says words that Caboose is pretty sure aren’t supposed to be said. But he thinks maybe _most_ of the words Church says aren’t supposed to be said.  
  
But Church is the best there ever is or was, so that means he _can_ say those words. All those teaching thingies he keeps shoving at Caboose clearly needs to take Church into consideration too. Bad words can be good words. If Church says them.  
  
Right now, though, Church is muttering at _someone_ else, which Caboose isn’t sure he likes. Because when Church mutters like this, his mind is all calm and soft and _fluffy_ inside. Like a big, happy sheep or maybe a big, happy cloud. Maybe _both_.  
  
It’s very nice. But Caboose doesn’t like it when Church mutters at someone else, so it’s not super completely very nice right now.  
  
“Stop being a jealous baby,” Church says, huffing as he reaches for another tiny, tiny, tiny screwdriver. “Go through the S.H.E.I.L.A tutorial again. Check if you can avoid killing your friends this time.”  
  
“But Church, I have to _watch_ so that _I_ can do this,” Caboose points out, and he leans forward to stare at the steady, red glow on the table. Sarge makes a nice night light, he decides. “It is _very_ important.”  
  
“Since _when_ did I tell you that you would get to do this shit? Because _no_ , Caboose, you’re not gonna get to do anything like this,” and Church’s hand passes through Sarge’s ghost form, which Caboose knows is kinda rude. “You would just fuck it up.”  
  
“Keep your goddamn blue hands where I can _see_ them,” Sarge snarls. His arms are crossed and he looks like a pirate captain, angry and tall and very red.  
  
“I _made_ you, I’ll put my ‘blue’ hands wherever the fuck I want,” Church snaps back. “Fucking hell, I told Carolina to stop overusing you. Those circuits were _burnt_! I fixed it, you’re done, but what the everloving _fuck_.”  
  
“Overusing me? Bah! I am a _Red_ , I can’t be overused! I am the ultimate machine, I will never sleep!”  
  
“I… yeah, whatever,” Church groans and rubs at his nose. At the spot between his nose. On his nose. The nose. Caboose stares for a moment as he considers the word. “Nose bridge,” Church grunts out, because he’s the best human of all time and Caboose loves him.  
  
“I love you,” Caboose says outloud, too, because he isn’t sure if Church can _feel_ how much  Caboose loves him, loves his big sometimes fluffy mind, sometimes sharp and huffy-puffy mind. He pats a small, blue hand on Church’s suddenly very red cheeks.  
  
Church clears his throat.  
  
“So what are you and Carolina doing? You need to come in here for maintenance _way_ fucking more than the rest,” he says, because Church is very shy and doesn’t really know how to pronounce I Love You anyway. It’s fine. Caboose thinks that if he says it enough times, Church might _learn_. Tex once told him that it’s a good idea, and that she will leave it in Caboose’s hands, which is _great_ even if her smile had looked like a scary shark’s.  
  
“Why, we work to defeat the enemy of course!”  
  
“ _What_ fucking enemy?”  
  
“The blues!”  
  
“Blue,” Caboose says happily.  
  
“Yes!” Sarge yells, “blue! The blue cars! We can’t let them _pass_ us, and so we must run past _them_!”  
  
“... oh my fucking god,” Church says, voice blank and his mind isn’t _that_ fluffy anymore. It’s kind of smooth and weird, a bit numb and blank. Cold. But still warm and soft. It’s very odd, Caboose thinks. “You idiots are racing cars with those speed boots I gave you. You fucking _idiots_.”  
  
“You calling me an idiot, Leo?”  
  
“How often do you race _cars_ , Carolina!?” Church says with his loud, angry bird voice. Caboose manages to shape Sheila in his hands. It’s not _really_ her, but like a toy of her. A soft, fluffy and blue toy that he can play with whenever he’s getting bored but still wants to know what is happening. He turns her over and tries to figure out how to make her make explosions. He likes those. “Also,” Church adds, “don’t fucking call me that!”  
  
“I don’t see why that matters,” Carolina replies and she rolls her bright green eyes. They’re nice eyes, but Caboose likes Church’s more. They are the same _color_ , but Carolina’s are a bit mean and scary sometimes. “Besides, I’m just testing the limits of what we can do together.”  
  
“You’re racing them every day, aren’t you? _Fuck you_ , I worked hard to make Sarge! He can’t handle those kind of calibrations all the fucking time, he isn’t the bullshit our fucking _dad_ makes.”  
  
Carolina looks at Church blankly.  
  
“Can I get him back now?” she asks, and Caboose looks up when Church sounds like an angry _cat_ , his mind going a bit too hot, too angry. Caboose pats his cheek.  
  
“Stop _racing_ with him!” Church shrieks.  
  
“Never! Now release me, you filthy blue! I ain’t no hostage! Not _ever_!”  
  
“He’s fixed, but he can’t do speedrunning calibrations for at least a week,” Church says, speaking over Sarge who is just getting louder and louder, “Because he isn’t a _smart_ AI, he’s an _experimental_ AI. I know you’re used to the bullshit _you-know-who_ did, but these are _my_ AI’s and I want you to treat them fucking right.”  
  
You-know-who. Caboose doesn’t like that man- he only met him once, but if Carolina’s eyes are sometimes mean, then her and Church’s goddamn-bastard-father’s eyes are just _scary_. Caboose shudders at the mere thought of the man, and Church cups one hand around him. It’s like a hug. It’s nice.  
  
“Sarge likes racing,” Carolina sighs, but she is at least listening now, or so Caboose thinks. “I won’t do it with the speed boots for a whole week, I promise. Can I get him _back_ now?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Church hisses. It’s his favorite word. “Sarge, power down, you’re going back to your stupid, competitive, adrenaline-junkie human again.”  
  
“ _Yeehaw!”  
  
_ “And since when does he likes cowboys?” Church asks when Sarge’s red night light flickers out. “Also, since _when_ did you wear hats?”  
  
“I like it,” Caboose tells both of them. “It’s blue. And fluffy.” It really is; it’s a beanie, he thinks, but Caboose doesn’t know much about clothes. That’s more for Donut. And Sister, but Sister always says the wrong color for all the colors so Caboose isn’t sure she is _good_ at clothes.  
  
“It’s _teal_ ,” Carolina corrects. And then she tugs off her bean hat to reveal bright red hair.  
  
Caboose gasps and claps his hands. Church is silent for a _really_ long time.  
  
“Wow,” he says, “you’re entering the rebellious phase _ten years late_.”  
  
“I needed a change,” she says with a roll of her eyes, and Carolina ties her hair up and out of the way for Church to get at the implant spot. The thing. The thing where Caboose is sitting on Church. “It’s not a phase.”  
  
“That’s what you said when you became a Linkin Park fan,” Church snickers and carefully picks up the implant with metal looking toothpicks. “And Evanescence. Those were phases, or are you admitting that you still want to _wake me up_?”  
  
“You were too, big brother. Remember who introduced them to me?”  
  
“ _Fuck_ you.”  
  
And then Church steps away and Carolina unties her hair. It’s _really_ bright.  
  
“Church! Church, can we have _blue_ hair?” Caboose asks.  
  
“Hell no.”  
  
“Awww…”  
  
Then Sarge comes online. He flutters and then he stabilizes, shotgun held in his hands once more. He looks around to check for enemies. He huffs and puffs.  
  
And _then_ Sarge sees Carolina’s new hair.  
  
“Welcome back, partner,” she says.  
  
But nothing happens. Caboose can see and _feel_ Church’s frown of concern and angry-caring, and even Carolina looks a little bit worried as Sarge doesn’t say a _thing_. Doesn’t even move.  
  
“You’re _red_!” Sarge then _wails_ , before he abruptly explodes into red confetti. Caboose isn’t sure if he should clap his hands. Did Sarge _die?_ Church told him they can’t die. But maybe they _can_?  
  
“Holy shit, you broke him. Again!”  
  
“No,” she says, and she is smiling. Not one of her scary ones, where Caboose knows Church is about to get noogied because even though Church is _big_ brother, Carolina is _tall_ sister, “He’s just _really_ happy.”  
  
“You pick red for Sarge. That’s very nice,” Caboose tells her, and looks up at Church. “It’s _very_ nice.”  
  
“I’m still not dying my hair __blue , Caboose.”  
  
“Awww…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love italics. I'm sorry. 
> 
> and yes, Sarge and Carolina totally speed run one second after a week has passed.


	5. Chapter 5

There are people in the lunchroom.   
  
Locus hesitates for a split second before he reluctantly steps inside. Grif flickers to life on his shoulder, far more eager to say Hi to their “colleagues” than Locus is or ever will be. 

  
“Tucker!” the orange AI calls out, “you figured out how to get laid yet?”

  
Locus falters. He closes his eyes and he can hear Washington groan, the amused huff of almost-laughter from Maine. There is even the faint sound of Donut’s far less amused huffing.

  
“No,” the aqua colored AI groans as well; far louder than Washington, far more dramatically. Locus sighs and opens his eyes and continue to go towards the fridge and what he hopes is his untouched lunch, “Wash doesn’t like one-night stands and totally refuses to listen to  _ any _ of my advice. I’ve tried  _ hard  _ to get him laid! Bow-chicka-wow-wow.”

  
Washington splutters; Locus does not look at the deep red blush on the man’s face, nor does he look at Maine’s smirk. He opens the fridge and pulls out the leftovers from two days ago and doesn’t look at anyone or anything else as he turns to the microwave. He  _ doesn’t _ . 

  
“Maine doesn’t listen to me either,” Donut helpfully adds, patting Maine’s cheek in a sympathetic manner, “I guess you and I just have to keep nailing them hard to the wall until they  _ start _ to listen.”

  
Grif is snickering inside of Locus’ head. He is also snickering outside of it, and Locus sends him a glare for the double-stereo effect it causes. It does little to stop the AI. It is extremely unhelpful, like most things Grif does or wants. It is a pity- at this point, Locus would appreciate even a  _ suggestion _ to get out of being social.

  
_ Awkward _ , Grif prods him with, and Locus pretends he doesn’t hear it. 

  
“Does Wash at least watch  _ porn _ ?” Grif asks. Locus almost drops the tupperware, only barely saving it from a messy death on the floor. Grif shows no remorse. 

  
“That is  _ none _ of  _ anyone’s _ business!” Washington says. His voice is high-pitched, his face even redder. The juice package in his hand is in danger of being squeezed too hard. “Tucker, start calculating instead! We don’t- don’t have  _ time _ for gossip.”

  
“Everyone always have time for gossip,” Donut protests, crossing his arms. “Besides, weren’t you and Maine just doing the same? You should let  _ us _ have a round too!”

  
“Bow-chicka-wow-wow~!”

  
“We’re leaving,” Washington decides. 

  
“Cool. Dibs on Wash’s lunch,” Grif says, only to then  _ yell _ , “Hey! No, I said dibs!  _ Fuck you, _ you piece of shit!” and Locus can’t help but glance towards the table. Maine looks smug as he takes a big bite from the food he just stole directly out of Washington’s hands. 

  
“I do not want it,” Locus tells both of them, paying no mind to the huffing from Grif. Both Locus and Maine ignore how Washington splutters even more, clearly having had no plans to give up his lunch to begin with. Tucker is busy cackling and is of no help at all. 

  
None of the AI’s usually are. 

  
“Whatever. I guess our food is better than whatever  _ Washingtub _ eats,” Grif grumpily says, using the nickname Washington earnt from Caboose months ago. It is meant as an insult, but Washington doesn’t seem to take it as one. Even if he did, he appears more busy trying to steal his food back from Maine while also bickering with the aqua colored AI. 

  
Donut hears. 

  
“You sure? Those look like some sloppy seconds,” Donut says. His voice is mildly criticizing, but enough for Locus to feel not quite  _ insecure  _ about his food, but something close to it. It should mean nothing. The leftovers  _ are _ sloppy seconds, if one is to use Donut’s wordings. There is nothing to feel ashamed for. Locus silently chooses the right settings to make his food somewhat appetizing. There is nothing to be ashamed of, he reminds himself again, even if there suddenly is a different shade of orange at the forefront of his mind. 

  
“Fuck you too,” Grif snaps back, and Locus never quite knows how to feel when his AI does that. Becomes oddly defensive and protective, the warm-lazy presence inside Locus’ mind becoming more alert and sharp and yet softer as well. “I would like to see  _ you _ try better.”

  
“Woah! Jeez, Grif, I wasn’t trying to be  _ rude _ . I’m just saying, Maine  _ hardly _ needs more food. Gosh, sometimes I wonder if he is a bear ready to go into hibernation! Not that he is hairy enough to be one, or that he ever gets fat. And even if he did, a little fat never hurt anyone! I bet I would look  _ amazing _ with more curves. I should try that next- besides, I just meant that Sam’s lunch is kinda  _ small _ .”

  
“Locus,” Grif corrects him. “And they’re leftovers, they’re  _ supposed _ to be small.”

  
“Give it a rest, Donut,” Tucker groans and sits down on the edge of the table. His legs kick back and forth as he adds, “Grif has been bitchy ever since Simmons stopped coming by.”

  
Locus isn’t sure where the sting of guilt comes from; him or Grif. It is better to focus on finding something to eat with- the drawer is filled with bent spoons and dull knives and he would prefer at least a fork. 

  
“He didn’t  _ stop _ coming by,” Washington says. A glance reveals that Washington managed to steal back his lunch, although he appears to have lost his fork in the battle. It is sticking out of Maine’s mouth in a decidingly mocking manner. “Church told us all that he would need to take it slow for a while. And this place is  _ hardly _ slow. Or quiet. It makes sense that he spends time away from this until his… circuits or whatever calmed down.” 

  
“Church? Don’t you usually call him Epsilon?” Donut asks, curious and glowing brighter than before. Locus eyes him warily; whatever drama that was almost started, it seems to have come to a stop thanks to Washington’s breadcrumbs of possible  _ other  _ drama. He is grateful- Simmons is not a subject he likes to dwell on. Neither does Grif, though the orange AI’s thoughts often return to it. 

  
“Only when he can hear it, dude,” Tucker replies gleefully, “Church  _ hates _ that name. And my boy Wash got the privilege of using it since Church is dating his  _ twin _ , remember?”

  
Maine and Donut eyes Washington for a moment.

  
“Yeah, me neither, Maine,” Donut says at last, “Tex looks  _ nothing _ like Wash.”

  
“At our next team-bonding exercise, I’m going to let you fall,” Washington tells them. 

  
Maine removes the fork from his mouth; he raises one brow at Washington, his smirk a smug one as his eyes slowly wander up and down. Donut giggles on his shoulder. It is the literal sound of silver bells, because Donut appears unable to resist making himself as pretty as he possibly can, no matter how unnatural it may appear or sound. 

  
“...  _ whatever _ ,” Washington squeaks out. He is blushing again, and Locus isn’t sure what he missed this time. With that, the now blushing man leaves quick enough to make Tucker yelp, his holographic form flickering and breaking into millions of aqua colored specks of light as he is forcibly dragged away from the room. 

  
For a moment, there is silence.   
  
“Sweet, he forgot his juice,” Grif says and hurriedly adds, “dibs.”   
  
Locus snatches it up before Maine this time. 


End file.
